Night of the Bimbo Sisters 2
by Flagg1991
Summary: Bobby, Ronnie Anne, Clyde, the Loud parents, and others seek shelter at Flip's as a zombie-like virus spreads through Royal Woods, turning people into sex crazed maniacs.
1. The Virus Spreads

Ian Dietz, two days into a career with the Royal Woods Police Department, was parked at the corner of Franklin Avenue and Oak Street, eating a sports bar and listening to the crackle of the dash mounted radio. Next to him, Sargent Paul Jackson, a walrus of a man with a bristly mustache, ate an everything bagel laden with cream cheese, the front of his black uniform shirt full of crumbs. Dietz didn't know how Sargent Jackson did it. In the four hours they'd been cruising the beat, Jackson had two egg McMuffins from McDonalds, an éclair from Flip's, a croissant from the Goldberg's Bakery, and the bagel. Sarge was a big guy, but if this is how he ate every day (and from talk in the squad room, it was), he was doing good in the weight department.

Not good enough, though. Dietz didn't dislike big people. He personally didn't care about what someone looked like as long as they were a good person. When he saw an overweight cop, however, he couldn't help feeling a rush of disgust. Cops, by the very nature of their job, need to be in good physical condition; you never know when you're going to have to chase someone down, or climb a fence, or have to lift something heavy or carry someone away from a burning vehicle. If you were pushing three hundred pounds and had a set of knockers like Dolly Parton, you probably weren't cut out for the job.

Dietz stole a glance at Sarge. His shirt and mustache were both smeared with cream cheese. Dietz smiled. Looked like that bagel was enjoying it just as much as Sarge was. 

"One thing you gotta know about this beat," Sarge said around a mouthful, "is it's quiet. Not much goes on here."

They were parked at the curb in front of a vacant house. On either side of the street, well-manicured lawns fell back to big houses. This was one of the richer sections of Royal Woods. The people here weren't wiping their asses with hundred dollar bills or anything, but they were solidly middle class. Farther up, the houses grew just a touch shabbier, the people just a _little_ bit further down the ladder. Lower middle class in Michigan was still okay. Dietz's parents were lower middle class; they didn't have much left over at the end of the month, but they always had what they needed and got what they wanted enough that they never felt deprived. He was happy growing up, but had no problem counting himself among the poor. After spending the previous day in the Sherman Arms section of town, he knew what poor _really_ was. The people there all lived in rundown houses or housing projects. Their clothes were dirty and everything looked like shit.

The crackle of the radio brought him out of his reprieve. "Be advised, 622 at Franklin and Dove. Units requested."

In Michigan cop talk, 622 was "unknown disturbance." None of the guys Dietz had talked to liked 622's because they could be anything from a stubbed toe to The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, so they had no idea what they were going into.

Moving quicker than Dietz had ever seen him move before, Sarge snatched the CB from its cradle and depressed the talk button. "Unit 22 en route." He glanced at Dietz. "Hit it."

Flipping the switch that activated the sirens, Dietz put the cruiser in drive and pressed the gas. He was kind of excited: This was the first action he'd seen all day.

"This is your first 622, huh?" Sarge asked.

"Yup."

"Let's hope it's a minor one."

"I wouldn't mind if it was major," Dietz said. "I could use some fun."

Sarge chuckled. "Come back to me in twenty years and say that."

Dietz turned left onto Dove Street, and immediately saw something amiss: A blonde girl, roughly seventeen or eighteen and as naked as the day she was born, tackled a black boy and started biting his face...or kissing it. A naked boy with white hair was on top of a little old lady, humping. The woman's eyes widened with every thrust.

"What the _fuck_?" Sarge gasped.

Dietz slammed on the brakes, threw open the door, and got out, drawing his gun and pointing it at the girl. She was definitely kissing the boy. "Freeze!" he yelled. On the other side of the car, Sarge aimed his gun at the boy.

The girl stopped her attack and looked up, a sly smile crossing her face. She got shakily to her feet and started advancing. The boy lie still.

"Freeze!" Dietz yelled again.

"I just _love_ a man in uniform," the girl purred with half-lidded eyes. She kept coming, and Dietz choked. If she were a biker or a Blood, he would have pulled the trigger no problem, but a teenage girl?

"Stop or I'll shoot!"

She kept coming, her breasts jiggling. Aiming the gun at her left leg, Dietz pulled the trigger. She screamed and collapsed to the pavement.

"Get off!" Sarge yelled. Dietz looked and saw the boy still going to town on the old bag, only now instead of looking horrified, she looked like she was enjoying it.

"I'm trying, fatso!" she yelled.

Dietz started around the front of the car, but someone grabbed him from behind and spun him around. It was another blonde girl, this one with white sunglasses on top of her head. She was naked too. "Hi!" she yelled, and before he could react, she took his face in her hands and shoved her tongue down his throat. He started, and shoved her away; she fell onto her ass with a pitiful, "Ow!"

Fire filled Dietz's mouth. He spit onto the street and, coughing and bending at the waist. His lips tingled, and his crotch felt tight. What did the bitch do, poison him? He looked at her, starting to say something, but pain wracked his body, and with a scream, he fell across the hood of the car.

"Kid!" Sarge yelled. He came over and laid a hand on his shoulder. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Dietz said, standing. "I'm _fabulous._ " He grabbed Sarge around the neck and kissed him...

Meanwhile, Lori crawled out of the street and lay on the sidewalk in a heap, the pain from the gunshot clouding her mind and pushing out the incessant lust. A scream rent the day, and she turned onto her side: Luan tackled a man and kissed him, passing her condition on.

"You alright?"

Lori looked up to see the black boy she'd attacked. She trailed her eyes down his chest to his crotch. His basketball shorts were gone. His dick was _very_ hard.

Suddenly, the pain wasn't so bad.

"I am now," she said, and opened her legs.

With a smile, the boy fell on her.


	2. In the Streets

It was a glorious, sunny Saturday morning, but Ronnie Anne Santiago was in a dark mood.

Sitting on the couch in front of the TV, she ignored what was happening on the screen and looking at her phone, willing it to light up and vibrate against her leg. She had been doing that since shortly after she woke up to find that Lincoln _still_ hadn't returned any of her texts from the previous night. She sent, like, five and he didn't answer. She was upset he was ignoring her, and being upset that he wasn't answering her upset her even more. Why should she care? She didn't care if any of her other friends ignored her texts for a few hours, but with Lincoln, it was different. When he didn't text her right back, she started feeling restless, and if she walked away from her phone and then came back to check it and found no messages, bitter disappointment filled her. She didn't like feeling that way.

She checked her phone again, saw no texts, and shook her head, crossing her arms. Fine. Be that way, Lincoln. He was probably giving Lynn a sexy massage or feeling up all his sisters' tits like the pervert freak he was. It made sense. He never had any time for her because _they_ were always holding him back. They needed him to do this, they wanted help with that, blah blah blah. He was probably railing all of them and laughing at her.

That thought made her mad, and she clenched her fists. She could see him now, all laid up between Lori and Leni, their bodies naked and their eyes dancing with malicious glee. _She has_ no _idea!_ Leni said, rubbing Lincoln's nuts.

 _Neither does Bobby,_ Lori said, gazing down at Lincoln's dick. _You know what they say: Blood is_ thicker _than water._

Fucking freak. She ought to go over there and plow him in his face, his ho sisters too.

She took a deep breath. She was being unfair. She knew that. It just...it hurt when he ignored her like this, because despite what might say to herself or anyone else, she liked him. She liked him and she wanted him to pay attention to her. She brought up the texts they'd exchanged. Since the one he'd sent, she'd texted six times. She felt a rush of shame. She looked desperate.

And that made her angry all over again.

Why did this have to be so hard?

She ought to march right over to his house, knock on the door, and tell him how she really felt. Hell, maybe even kiss him to seal the deal. He'd probably be more conscious of her needs after _that_.

Maybe. She didn't think she could do that though. No one had ever called her a coward, but she wasn't brave enough to bare her heart like that. She could take the pain of a fist to the nose, but not the pain of having her heart broken into a million little pieces.

Damn you, Lincoln Loud, you've turned me into a little bitch.

She sighed. She was just about to get up when Bobby came into the room and dropped down next to her. He looked down. "What's up?" she asked.

"Huh?" he looked at her. "Oh, nothing, Lori just hasn't texted me since last night and I'm starting to worry."

Ronnie Anne's brow furrowed. "That's funny, Lincoln hasn't texted me since last night either."

Bobby looked at her, a look of concern crossing his face. "You don't think something happened to them...?"

Ronnie Anne opened her mouth to reply, but before she could, the TV uttered an ear-piercing wail, and the words BREAKING NEWS flashed across the screen. The scene cut to an aerial view of an intersection. A police car was on its side, flames shooting out of the windows. People ran rampant through the street, some of them were pixilated, suggesting that they were naked.

"...You're looking at a live shot of downtown Royal Woods," a woman said, and Ronnie Anne and Bobby looked at each other. "Police are reporting mass unrest and violence."

The live feed switched to two anchors behind a news desk. "Welcome to Channel 5: Action News," a woman in a pink blazer said, "I'm Martha McCollum. Seven people are reported dead this afternoon after civil unrest broke out in Royal Woods. Eyewitnesses report police opening fire on a crowd that gathered at the corner of Johnson Street and Franklin Avenue..."

 _Franklin? That's where Lincoln lived!_

"Lori..." Bobby said.

"Officials are asking people to please stay in their homes or places of business. An anonymous sources tells Channel 5 that Mayor Donovan has requested the mobilization of the National Guard..."

"Lori," Bobby said again, getting to his feet. "I-I have to go get her."

Ronnie Anne's heart clenched. "Are you kidding me? They said stay inside!"

"But it's Lori, she might be in danger!"

"I don't give a shit! If you go out there _you'll_ be in danger!"

Bobby paused for a moment, and Ronnie Anne could see his mind working. He blinked. "I have to."

He turned to leave, and she jumped up. "I'm coming with you then."

He spun. "No. You stay here."

"Like hell."

"I don't need to worry about you out there. Stay here."

Before Ronnie Anne could reply, the back door slammed open. "Where's that Mexican cunt?" a male voice asked. "She looks like she likes it _rough_."

Bobby paled, then grabbed her hand. "Alright, you can come."

Outside, Bobby mounted his bike and Ronnie Anne climbed onto hers. They took off just as a naked fat man covered in body hair ran out of their front door. "Hey, _mamacita,_ where you going?" he asked. Ronnie Anne saw his erection and nearly screamed.

"Come on!" Bobby yelled.

Ronnie Anne pedaled faster. Ahead, people ran through the streets and front lawns, banging on doors and smashing windows. She looked over her shoulder: The man was running after them, his fat jiggling. A little girl with red hair ran out of an alleyway and threw her arms around his legs. "Fuck me, mister!"

The man threw the little girl onto the pavement, and Ronnie Anne turned away, dazed. "Oh, yeah!" the girl cried enthusiastically.

What the hell was _that_ about?

Ahead, Bobby turned down Sheridan Avenue, and Ronnie Anne followed. Up ahead, a mass of people ran out of a rolling bank of smoke. Many of them were naked, and Ronnie Anne's heart seized. Were they zombies?

Bobby looked over his shoulder, his eyes wide and his face pale. "You okay?"

Ronnie Anne swallowed and nodded.

At the end of Sheridan, they turned right, but came to a grinding halt. Two police cars were parked nose-to-nose across the street. Cops in riot gear faced away from them at an advancing group. "Disperse immediately!" one of them called through a megaphone. The army continued coming, and the policemen opened fire. Bodies jerked and spun. Ronnie Anne watched in horror as the mob overtook the cops and broke through the line.

"Shit!" Bobby screamed. "Come on!"

They took off, Ronnie pedaling as fast as her legs would allow her. They were heading away from downtown (and Franklin Ave) and toward the Sherman Arms section of Royal Woods. Dilapidated rowhouses and bungalows with peeling paint lined the street. A group of black men sat on a stoop, passing a bottle back and forth.

"Run!" Bobby cried as they flew past. "They're coming!"

At the next intersection, gunshots rose into the air, and a siren wailed. Left, a group of people were coming down the street. Bobby turned right, and Ronnie Anne followed. They were just passing the back of Flip's Food and Fuel when a massive flood of people started spilling out of Saganaw Street. A woman in nothing but a black T-shirt ran at Bobby, and, screaming, he dumped his bike. Ronnie hopped off of hers. Zombies-for-lack-of-a-better-term were all around them.

"Come on!" Bobby screamed, grabbing her by the back of her hoodie and dragging her away. She got her feet under her and ran with him. Up ahead, Flip was standing by the back door of his store, a shotgun in his hands. "Come on!" he screamed, waving with one hand. Ronnie Anne looked back and almost screamed. A thouasand faces with mad eyes were inches behind her, a thousand sets of hands reached and grasped. "Pussy!" one of them screamed. "Girl! "I want the boy!" "Dick!"

Flip aimed the shotgun and fired, flames leaping from the barrel. Someone screamed.

Bobby grabbed her hand and dragged her inside. Flip came behind, firing once more before slamming the door and locking it. A split second later, the zombies were pounding on it.

Ronnie Anne collapsed to the floor, and began to cry. "Hey," Bobby said, his voice shaky, "it's okay." He dropped next to her and took her in his arms.

 **Hey, you, in the comments, chill out, alright? Let's not forget that this isn't about you here, it's about** _ **me**_ **.**

 **I'm kidding, but really, why can't we all just get along?**

 **I also wanted to take this opportunity to say a few things. You can skip this is you like. It's not** _ **too**_ **important.**

 **1\. Someone accused me of taking pleasure in torturing the Loud family in my fiction. That simply isn't the case; I torture my own characters too. I mean, you should** _ **see**_ **some of my original stuff. I don't always write dark, extreme stories, but when I do, I don't fuck around.**

 **2\. Someone called me awful and said that I disgusted me. I just hope they realize that for a story like NOTBS, that's a huge compliment.**

 **3\. Someone messaged me and said, "Flagg1991, you've written a lot of messed up stuff. Is there anything you** _ **won't**_ **write, you soulless bastard?**

 **Well, I thought long and hard about that. See, when you write something, you're in control. If you want something to happen, it happens, if you don't want it to happen, it doesn't. There is, therefore, no topic I would never write about because I am in control and that removes any anxiety on the matter. Totally and completely in control.**

 **There** _ **is**_ **one concept that I've seen in TLH fandom that I can honestly say troubles me, and it has to do with the gender-reversed Loud House. I've never seen that episode and don't particularly care to, but I get the basic concept. Lincoln's a girl and she has ten brothers. Okay, fine, great. I came across a story a while back and the description went something like: "Blah blah blah Linka Loud and her ten horny older brothers." I saw that, said "Oh,** _ **hell**_ **no," and closed out of the tab. I don't know how the story played out (probably like a normal haram story), but when I read that thumbnail, the image that popped into my head was on this frightened, little 11-year-old girl surrounded by a group of leering teenage boys, and that actually bothered me. Again, that's probably not what the author was going for, but it's what came to me, and I didn't like it. So yes, even I, strange as it may seem, have limits.**


	3. Safe Haven

"Where are we?" Bobby asked. Ronnie Anne was sitting against the wall, her knees drawn to her chest. She had stopped crying, but the sound of those things trying to smash through the door was pushing her to the verge of a nervous breakdown. She remembered their horrible faces, and shuddered.

"Storeroom," Flip said. The space was wide and lined with shelves. Boxes were stacked along one of the walls. A group of people were huddled in the middle of the space. She saw an older man with a bald spot and an Asian woman in a vest. "Just touch it?" a familiar voice asked. Ronnie Anne looked up, and saw Luan Loud, her father's arms wrapped tightly around her. She was craning around to look at him, her eyes wide. "Please? If you don't want to do it, mom can."

Rita wept into her hands. "Luan, stop this," she managed.

"They're in the store itself," Flip was saying. He went to a shelf, took something down, and handed it to Bobby. Ronnie Anne looked at it. A handgun. "Almost got me and the McBride boy."

Ronnie Anne looked at Flip, then back to the people hunkering in the middle of the room. There, off to himself, his arms wrapped around his knees in a position much like her own (only he rocked back and forth with wide, haunted eyes) was Clyde McBride.

Flip walked up to the group with Bobby.

"Mr. and Mrs. Loud?" Bobby asked.

Mr. Loud looked up at Bobby but didn't say anything. Luan reached for him, a smile crossing her face, but Mr. Loud grabbed her arm and pushed it down.

"Where's Lori?"

"I don't know," Mrs. Loud sobbed.

"I know," Luan said huskily.

"Where?" Bobby asked, his voice full of hope.

"Lick my pussy and I'll tell you."

Bobby took a shocked step backwards. Ronnie Anne's jaw dropped. "Luan," her father said defeatedly, "stop."

"She's infected," Flip said. "We need to get her out of here."

Mr. Loud looked up. "What? Out of here?" He sounded as though Flip's simple declaration had flown directly over his head.

Rita looked up as well, her eyes red and her face puffy from crying.

"Send her out there," Flip said, nodding toward the back. "I don't know, she can't stay here. She's one of them."

"Send her out there with those _freaks_? Are you crazy? I can't send my daughter out there!"

"Your daughter _is_ a freak," Flip said, nodding at Luan. "She'd probably have the time of her life out there."

"Yes I would," Luan giggled and rubbed her legs together. "All those hands touching me...all those mouths kissing me...licking me..." she shuddered. "Send me out there!" She tried to stand, but her father held her fast, hugging her to his chest so tightly that her face started to turn red.

"If we let that... _thing_ stay in here, we're as good as dead," the man with the bald spot said, disgust in his voice.

"That 'thing' is my _daughter,_ " Mr. Loud said.

"She's infected," Baldy said. "With whatever those things outside have."

"She's not infected," Mr. Loud said. "She's just..."

"She's got the same thing they have," Flip said, pointing. "I had a three hundred pound woman with no clothes on come into my store and ask me to lick her asshole. She had the same look in her eyes your daughter has. Shit, we're probably all infected now, breathing the same air."

"It only passes through bodily fluids," Luan said dreamily, "Lincoln said Lisa told him."

"Lisa?" Mr. Loud asked.

Luan nodded. "She did this."

The pounding on the back door got louder, and Ronnie Anne whipped around, expecting it to burst open. It held firm.

"What did she do?" Rita asked.

"Hmmmm. Someone's going to have to rub me off if you want to hear more."

Rita hung her head and Mr. Loud looked tormented. Luan rubbed her legs together faster, her breaths coming in sharp gasps. When Ronnie Anne realized what she was doing, she shuddered and looked away.

"Someone jack the kid off," Flip said, "I wanna hear."

Luan moaned. "It was a gas. It came out of the vents. Lisa said she wanted to watch us squirm." She giggled again. "It got us all except Lincoln. It didn't work on him."

When Ronnie Anne heard his name, she sat up. "Where is he?" she asked, startling everyone. They had forgotten she was there.

"Out there," Luan said. "Having a ball. Or two."

For a second Ronnie Anne didn't comprehend what Luan was saying...or didn't want to. When it sank in, her shoulders sagged and tears filled her eyes. Lincoln Loud, one of the most precious things in her life, was out _there_ , pretty much dead.

And she never even told him how much she cherished him.

She buried her face in her arms and let the tears overwhelm her, her body trembling. She saw his sweet, smiling face on the backs of her eyelids, and sobbed even harder.

"Hey," Bobby whispered, slipping his arm around her. "It's okay. He's...he's just sick, that's all. He'll get better."

Ronnie Anne didn't believe that. She looked up at him. His eyes were red and shimmered with unshed tears. She didn't have to ask why: Lori was infected too. She had to be.

"What about the others?" Rita asked, a hitch in her voice. "Y-Your sisters?"

"Hmmmm...I could use a licking..."

" _Luan tell us where your sisters are!"_ Mr. Loud shouted desperately.

"Luna, Lynn, Lisa, and Lucy are dead," the girl said, "I don't know about the others."

Shocked silence filled the room. Ronnie Anne looked at Mr. Loud. His face was pale and drawn, his eyes wide and his mouth trembling. Mrs. Loud looked like the life had been sucked out of her. For a moment her face was frozen, then it all came apart and she wailed.

"Lynn was a _nut_ ," Luan said. "She _came_ at Luna with an ax and then Lisa _blew_ her away." Luan giggled. "It was quite a load. Lucy _mounted_ Lisa and ate her neck, then _shot_ herself. Then me...Lincoln...Leni...and Lori had sex." She laughed, and everyone looked mortified. Mr. Loud stared off into space. "We had _so_ much sex." Luan struggled to sit up straight, but Mr. Loud held her down. "Last I saw of Linc, he was coming to see you, Ronnie Anne. He had something he wanted to give you. Something long and hard and hot." She made a long _ummmmm_ sound. "Lucky. He fucks like a _god_."

"M-make that thing shut up," Baldy said.

Luan tossed her head back and forth, squeezing her legs together.

"This isn't happening," the Asian woman said hollowly, hugging herself. "This isn't happening."

Flip sighed and shook his head, glancing at Bobby, who held Ronnie Anne against him: The warm, strong presence of her brother calmed her, and she no longer cried.

"I want that thing out of here," Baldy said. "She'll kill us all."

"She's not going anywhere," Mr. Loud mumbled.

"Our lives are..."

" _She's not going anywhere!"_ Mr. Loud roared, startling Ronnie Anne. He looked at Flip. "You're going to have to kill me before I'll let my daughter go out there."

Mrs. Loud still wept, seemingly oblivious to the world around her.

"Alright," Flip said, "she can stay, but you hold her down. If she gets free, I'll shoot her, and if I have to, I'll shoot you too."

"Shoot me with your dick," Luan said, and opened her mouth, sticking out her tongue.

Ronnie Anne held herself. She thought of her mother, probably trapped at work, hopefully alive. She wished she'd grabbed her phone. She knew Bobby didn't have his. If only she could hear her mother's voice...


	4. Around Town

Riot police set up a parameter through the center of Royal Woods. Police cars from three surrounding towns _and_ the Michigan State Police blocked streets while helicopters flew overhead. Smoke and fire poured into the sky. Along Main Street, storefronts were smashed and rubble littered the sidewalk. Dead bodies lie here and there, blood soaking into the pavement. Everything north of the line was lost, the infected roaming aimlessly and fucking everything that walked. The south was disease free as far as anybody knew. The streets were jammed with cars attempting to flee. I-75 was backed up in both directions for six miles. National Guard troops from the Renton Falls barracks were en route: 150 men, three troop transports, and a fleet of armored vehicles for crowd control. They were under the direct command of special army envoy General Justus Maddow, affectionately called "Madman" by his friends and "asshole" by his enemies.

Three blocks south of Franklin Avenue, a little boy with white hair stalked down the middle of a narrow, tree lined street. Gunshots, breaking glass, and sirens filled the air, along with smoke and screaming. People streamed around him, some nude, some in torn clothes, and others wearing fetish gear that either had on hand or found. He saw a man walking two little girls on a leash like dogs; a _very_ obese woman bouncing on a man's head (the man's legs lifted and fell each time she came down on him, and Lincoln suspected that he was dead); a man in a speedo sticking his fist deep into the ass of a police officer bent over the hood of a white pick-up truck (the cop screamed "Deeper! Deeper!"); and a man strangling a woman. She knelt before him, her face blue and her eyes bulging out. She didn't look like she was enjoying it, and Lincoln briefly flashed by to his sister Lynn, who had turned into a sadistic maniac the night before and tried to kill him.

Someone screamed, and Lincoln looked up to see a woman running across a front lawn, a gang of naked men chasing her. She made it to the sidewalk before another man speared her like Bill Goldberg and knocked her to the ground. She wailed and begged for mercy as the men fell on her, ripping her clothes off and violating her. Within moments she was begging for more.

The boy shivered with delight. It was like the biggest block party in the world, and _everyone_ was coming. He wanted to run over and join the fun, but he kept going, his penis rigid and throbbing. He was on his way to see a girl, a girl he had liked for a long time, a girl who punched him in the face once (he kind of hoped she did it again, and kicked him in the balls). The thought of her beating him to a quivering pulp excited him, and he could feel precum beginning to fester at the tip of his dick. Maybe he would wear a dress and she could ram something long and hard into his asshole. He could be her little bitch, let her piss and shit on him, lick her steaming brown goodness from the carpet like a dog.

Where were his sisters?

He looked around, not seeing them. The last one he remembered seeing was Lori; she was limping behind him, blood snaking down her leg from a gunshot wound. He remembered licking some of it from her skin, the taste hot and coppery, and thinking that Lucy was right about it tasting good.

Oh well. He'd find them later. Right now, he needed to see Ronnie Anne.

* * *

"Hold the line!" Captain J.T. Warner of the Royal Woods Police Department cried. His men, strung out along a flanks of a half dozen police cruisers parked across Main Street, steeled themselves against the hissing, spitting mass surging their way. Warner hefted an M4 rifle to his shoulder and scanned the vanguard of the advancing army. He saw men, women, and- God – even children. A little girl played with herself as she lurched along, and a boy of maybe six or seven was sporting a full-blown erection. Warner shuddered. He remembered a poem he read in school about hell, and how it had many different levels for the different types of sins. One of those levels was for lust. _Not_ all _hell's broken loose,_ he thought, _only some of it._

They were fifteen feet away and coming quick, screaming, yelling, and howling. One of Warner's men broke and fled, dropping his shield and running as fast as his booted feet would carry him.

Ten feet now. A blonde girl with white sunglasses on the top of her head broke from the pack. "Hi!" she screamed.

Warner pointed the gun at her face and pulled the trigger: It exploded into a million pieces.

The others opened fire then too, and the lust-sinners jerked, spun, danced, and fell. There were too many, however, and they started coming _over_ the cars. One grabbed a cop by the balls and kissed his facemask; another lunged at Warner, but Warner fell back and shot her in the chest. She fell against the car and sank down with wide eyes. It was hopeless. Warner turned and ran, his heart blasting in his chest. He looked over his shoulders and saw the line completely overrun. A few of his boys ran after him, their faces pinched with fright. The swelling mass overtook them, and it was just Warner now, running for his life from a crowd of demons with burning flesh and raging hormones.

And they were getting closer.

Panic welled up in him, and he jettisoned his rifle. He pulled a handgun from a holster on his belt and stuck it under his chin. He couldn't go out like that, gang-raped in the street. He'd rather shoot himself.

And he did.

* * *

Harold McBride went into his and Howard's bedroom, opened the closet, and reached for something on the top shelf, his fingers crawling blindly along. Come on. He touched it, then pulled it down. A Beretta 9mm. Neither Harold nor Howard were particularly fond of guns, but they realized that as two gay men in the Midwest, they might need one. That was when they adopted Clyde. Before, they never gave the matter much thought, but with a son to look after, they came to terms with the necessity of self-defense.

Checking the magazine, Harold stuck the gun into the waistband of his pants, then took a box of rounds from the same shelf. He carried them into the living room, where Howard sat before the TV, his face drawn and his hand resting upon his chest. Harold sat, took the gun out, and loaded the magazine. On TV, live shots of the chaos engulfing Royal Woods played: Unchecked fires raging along Main Street; overturned cop cars on Park; spriting groups of pixilated madpeople flooding the streets. Per the anchor, the National Guard had arrived five minutes ago, and was setting up a base camp outside town.

When Harold was done, she rammed the magazine in. His heart was pounding. "Are you ready?" he asked.

Howard nodded. "Yes."

They got up from the couch, and Harold hugged his husband. "It's going to be alright. We'll find him."

"I hope," Howard said tearfully.

When the madness began, Clyde was on his way to Flip's for one of those drinks he liked so much. A slushie? A slurpie? Harold didn't know, but he _did_ know that his son was out there somewhere, in danger.

In the garage, Harold climbed behind the wheel and Howard slid into the passenger seat. Harold hit a button on the console, and the garage door opened, revealing the first stirrings of unrest in the Oak Falls section of town: A naked man was banging on someone's front door, and when they didn't answer, he went to the front window. A woman was on her hands and knees in someone's front yard, a big black dog behind her, its forepaws on her back and its hips furiously thrusting.

"Oh, my God," Howard said, covering his mouth.

Harold pulled out into the street and turned right. Over the treetops in the distance, thick black smoke poured into the sky. As they passed, the naked man noticed them and gave chase, his penis swinging one way and his testicles swinging the other. Harold punched the gas, and they sailed along Pine Street. They saw a man making love to a woman on the sidewalk, a mailman masturbating into someone's mailbox, and an old woman in a wheelchair rubbing her nipples and licking her lips.

"It's like hell on earth," Howard said lowly, drinking in the terrible scene.

Harold turned on the radio, and found a news broadcast. "People are being asked to remain in their homes at this time. 911 operators are allegedly overwhelmed with calls. Citizens are being asked to refrain from jamming phone lines. If you can defend yourself, do so."

"I see now what all the NRA types were worried about," Howard said.

"I'm just worried about our son."

At the next intersection, they took a right, and Harold slammed on the brakes: An enormous swarm of people blocked the way. Howard let out a strangled cry, and Harold's heart jumped into his throat. He threw the car into reverse and hit the gas as they started running at them, their arms outstretched and their faces wild.

"Hold on!" Harold cried, jerking the wheel; the car spun in an almost complete 180, the zombies now behind them. Harold threw the car into drive and hit the gas once more: They rocketed forward, clipping a car parked at the curb. A little girl darted into the street, and Harold's heart jumped. She grinned, made a tube with her hand, and flicked her wrist back and forth to simulate giving a handjob. Harold slammed the brakes, but it was too late: The front end struck her and knocked her down, the tires thumping as she was sucked underneath.

Zombies were slamming on the truck and the back windows. Howard glanced out and saw a face staring in at him, a man with a mustache and yellow teeth.

"Go!" he yelled.

Harold punched the gas, and the car shot forward. A man came out from behind a parked Jeep, his raging erection jutting their direction, and threw a rock. It smashed through the windshield, spraying Harold and Howard with glass. Howard jerked the wheel left, and the car sailed off the street and slammed into power pole, the airbags deploying.

Ripping his seat belt off, Howard threw open the door and stumbled out, the gun in his hand. The rock thrower came at him, and Howard raised the gun and jerked the trigger. The man spun and fell.

The mob was closing in. He started to run, glancing back just as Howard got out of the car. He was too slow. Dear God, he wasn't going to make it.

As if on cue, a woman with red hair grabbed him from behind, and he screamed, a look of terror crossing his face. "Harold!"

They were hot on his heels. He couldn't stop. He had to find Clyde. He had to. No matter what.

Arms grabbed him from behind, and he fell to the ground. Faces surrounded him, clawed hands reached for him. He threw his hands protectively over his head, but they didn't go for the head, oh no.

At least not _that_ head.

Fire engulfed his penis, and he screamed in agony. Shortly, he screamed in pleasure. When it was over, his penis chaffed and sore, he had one thought and one thought only: He needed to find Clyde...


	5. We Are Dead

"Please?" Luan asked.

Mr. Loud squeezed his eyes closed, as if by doing so he could drown out her voice.

"Please, daddy?"

A tear snaked down his cheek.

"Please molest me. _Please_."

Flip paced back and forth like a caged animal, the barrel of the shotgun resting against his shoulder. Baldy was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed. The Asian woman balled her hands and prayed. Clyde continued to rock back and forth. He looked so scared. And so alone.

Ronnie Anne pulled away from her brother, crossed the room (keeping her eyes straight ahead so she didn't have to look at Luan), and sat next to him. "Hey," she said awkwardly. "A-Are you okay?"

He shook his head, still rocking. "No."

Ronnie Anne didn't know what to say to that. She looked at Bobby: He was sitting against the wall, his arms resting on his knees, his gaze downcast. He looked as miserable as she felt.

"I'm scared too," she said, "but don't tell anyone or I'll pound you." She smiled to show that she was kidding, but he didn't seem to notice.

The pounding at the door continued, the sound filling the small space like judgement day.

"How long will that door hold?" Bobby asked, looking up.

"Hopefully long enough for them to go away," Flip replied.

"Fuck me, daddy," Luan said, looking up at her father. "Please? I'm so horny it hurts."

Mr. Loud broke down then, hitching big, watery sobs, his chest shaking. Mrs. Loud put her hand on his shoulder, and he leaned his head against it. Together they wept, and seeing them cry made Ronnie Anne want to cry. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked at the floor. "Do you think we'll get out of here?"

"No," Clyde said, shaking his head. "We're doomed."

"Way to brighten a girl's day," she muttered.

"Clyde?" Luan called. "Wanna lose your virginity before you die?"

Clyde rocked harder. Ronnie Anne patted his back.

"Bobby...?"

Bobby was gazing off into space.

Luan opened her legs, the hem of her skirt falling down her bare thighs. "I'm not wearing any underwear," she said in a singsong voice.

"Shut her up," Baldy said over his shoulder.

"With dick."

"Luan," Mr. Loud whispered. He sounded like a man who had been drained of life.

"Someone fuck me!" Luan cried. "Someone fuck me! Someone fuck me! Someone fuck me!"

"Shut up!" Baldy screamed. "Just shut up!"

"The pain!" Luan wailed, digging her heels into the floor and twisting in her father's arms. "The pain of being horny!"

"You're going to have to get her off," Flip said to Mr. Loud. "My nerves can't take this shit much longer. There's a broom over there. Maybe that'll do it."

"Yes!" Luan cried. "Ram it in me!"

Mr. Loud shook his head.

"At least give her her hand so she can do it herself."

"That works," Luan said happily.

Sighing, Mr. Loud let one of her arms go, and her hand instantly disappeared up her skirt. Her eyes widened and her cheeks flushed. A loud, wet squelching noise filled the room, and Ronnie Anne put her hands over her ears. She was sitting close enough that she could smell Luan's dank sex, and she gagged. She got up, moved to the other side of Clyde, and settled down, pulling her hoodie over her nose. The absurdity of the situation struck her full force, and she bit down on her bottom lip to keep from screaming laughter. Luan moaned in the back of her throat.

"That's almost as bad," Flip said, walking back and forth. He paused at the door. The intensity of the pounding had lessened as, presumably, members of the crowd wandered off to get their kicks elsewhere. Hope filled Ronnie Anne. "I think you're wrong, McBride," she said. "We're gonna make it."

"I hope," he said. "I doubt it. They're everywhere." He shivered.

"Do you have a phone back here?" Baldy asked.

"Nope," Flip said, "only phone's up front."

Baldy sighed heavily. "Do you have a cellphone?"

"Nope."

"Great," Baldly replied, slapping his hand against his leg. "Just great. Nice."

"You want a phone so bad, you're more than welcome to go use the one out front. I'm not letting you back in, though."

"I'll pass," Baldy said, and nodded toward Luan, "I want to wind up like braceface."

Luan, her legs spread wide, played with herself unashamedly, her head thrown back against her father's chest and her eyelids fluttering. No one looked at her; everyone pretended she didn't exist.

The Asian woman continued praying, her lips flying and her hands deftly counting the beads of a rosary.

"I hope my dads are okay," Clyde said. He wasn't rocking as hard or fast as he had been before.

"I'm sure they are," Ronnie Anne said, squeezing his shoulder. He stopped and looked at her.

"You think so?"

"Yup. They're probably worried sick about you, though."

"Yeah," Clyde said, looking away. "I'm pretty worried about them too."

"I'm worried about my mom," Ronnie Anne said. She drew her knees to her chest and hugged them. "I hope she's okay." She started to cry again, and Clyde put his arm around her. Her first instinct was to draw away, but instead she allowed herself to melt into him.

"She's okay, too," Clyde said, fumbling to sound reassuring. "And when this is all over, her and my dads will come get us."

Ronnie Anne took a deep breath and forced herself to stop crying. For a moment she leaned against Clyde, drawing strength from his presence, then sat up, rubbing her eyes. "You're right," she said. "We just need to get through this."

She thought of her beloved Lincoln out there in the madness, infected and alone, his mind (and his body) burning with sickness. She glanced over at Luan; her mouth was open wide and her hips gyrated against her hand. Is that was Lincoln was like? Playing with himself in the middle of the street, so aroused that it physically _hurt_? She looked again at her boyfriend's sister. She was panting heavily, her mouth opening even wider. She started to tremble. Ronnie Anne was transfixed. It was like a train wreck. She couldn't look away, and part of her didn't want to, it wanted to peer into the morbid maw of sexual madness. "Oh...oh...oh..."

Mr. Loud looked away, closing his eyes and pursing his lips as he daughter came, twisting in his arms, her hips moving. She took the fabric covering his arm in her teeth and panted, her body wracked with aftershocks. Mrs. Loud looked at her lap, momentarily between crying fits.

"That was good," Luan panted, looking up at her father. "But Lincoln can do it better."

Mr. Loud shook his head as if to dispel the image of his son and daughter in the throes of sex. It only occurred to Ronnie Anne right then and there how terrible this must be for him, holding his infected daughter as she masturbated, begging for him to touch and molest her.

"This is hell," Ronnie Anne was surprised to hear herself mutter.

"Huh?" Clyde asked.

Looking away from the Louds, Ronnie Anne fixed her eyes on the wall ahead. "We are dead," she said, "and this is hell."


	6. Hell on Earth

Lori Loud grabbed hold of a stop sign and pulled herself to her feet. Ahead, a man with a shotgun stood in the middle of an intersection, firing at those approaching him. People streamed around her, bumping into her and almost knocking her down. The man turned, and a woman with black hair jumped on his back; the gun clattered to the ground and discharged, spraying buckshot across the pavement and taking out people's feet. The man fell, and fifty people dogpiled him.

Dazed, Lori watched, trying to focus on the lust rather than the pain: Her let throbbed, and she was starting to feel woozy. She looked down at the wound. Blood was still snaking down her leg and splattering to the sidewalk. She was bleeding to death, she thought, slowly but surely. Ahead, flames rose from a shattered storefront. Broken glass littered the ground.

Suddenly, rough hands were gripping her hips, and someone was kissing her neck. Her desire swelled, and she laughed. "Ummm, that's nice." The hands crawled down her body and found her center. She let out a gasp, and leaned back into her unseen lover. She felt something hard and hot poking her between her butt cheeks. "Yes," she purred. She turned, and was surprised to see her grandfather.

"Pop-pop?" She grinned. He was wearing a white shirt and no pants.

Pop-pop smiled. "You know, when I saw you, I thought "She looks like Lori" and my dick almost exploded."

"Oh?"

She dropped to her knees (hissing at the pain) and looked up at him with half-lidded eyes. "Do I...turn you on?"

He nodded, caressing her cheek. "You do."

She wrapped her hand around his throbbing penis and licked the tip. A shudder ran through his body, and she laughed. "You taste nice."

"You _look_ nice," he said, running his fingers through her hair.

She took him in her mouth, and he gasped. "Yes, Lori..."

He poked the back of her throat, and she gagged, hot stomach bile rising up and coating him. He hissed over clenched teeth. "Damn."

She swallowed, and he pushed her away. Kneeling, he kissed her and grabbed one of her breasts. She kissed him back, and allowed him to lay her down on the sidewalk. When he entered her, she cried out into his mouth. He thrust once, twice, three times, then jerked, his hot seed shooting into her, knocking her into an orgasm. He collapsed against her, and for a long time they panted and held each other. Finally, he lifted up and looked at her. "Where's your mother?"

* * *

Lincoln Loud reached the Santiago house just before noon. On the way, he passed several dead bodies, one of whom was being "used." He saw people copulating in the street, a man on his hands and knees in someone's front yard, a girl of thirteen or fourteen shoving something into him, burning cars, and wreckage. The gunshots and wailing sirens that had permeated the air just an hour before had stopped, and the only sounds were the distant screams and wails of the infected or their victims.

Two blocks from Ronnie Anne's, a girl called his name. He turned to see Cristina, on whom he had once had a crush, rushing up a side street. She was wearing a purple dress and stockings. The stockings were ripped, and her hair was a mess. As she approached, she smiled. "Hey, there."

Lincoln ignored her.

"Hey! Where're you going?"

She stepped in front of him and smiled lustily. His dick swelled.

"To see Ronnie Anne."

Cristina blinked. "Oh? Well...you can't see _me_ first?" She smiled and twirled a strand of hair around her finger.

Lincoln started to tell her to get lost, but she stepped into his arms and pressed her crotch against his erection. Her smell was sweet, but sour too, like sweat and old sex. Lincoln inhaled deeply through his nose, and shivered.

She laughed. "Come on, Linc. Don't you want me?"

He kissed her, jamming his tongue down her throat and pulling her to him roughly. She kissed him back, their tongues writhing and lashing each other. Lincoln shoved her down, and, smiling, she opened her legs. He mounted her, his hands splayed on the pavement on either side of her, and thrust hard. She jumped. "Jesus!" He thrust again, and she wrapped her legs around his hips and pulled him deeper. "Harder!"

He pulled back, and launched into her. She howled, her body jerking. He grabbed her breast through her shirt and squeezed as he fucked her, thrust, thrust, thrust. He cried out as he came, and she trembled, her eyes bugging out her head and a long, breathy "gah" sound escaping her mouth. Lincoln rolled off of her and lay on the pavement for a moment.

"Remember when you posted that video of you kissing that picture of me and I got all butt hurt?"

Lincoln nodded. His thoughts were already drifting to Ronnie Anne.

"I was a retard." She turned to him. "You're fucking _awesome_."

"Thanks," he said, and got up. "See you around."

Five minutes later, he pushed Ronnie Anne's front door open and walked into her living room. The curtains had been ripped down, the coffee table was on its side, the TV was smashed. He looked around. In her room, he checked the closet, under the bed, and even behind her TV stand. She was nowhere.

Bitter disappointment filled him. An idea occurred to him, and he went to her dresser, opening the top drawer. He took out a pair of her underwear, sniffed it...then slipped it on. They fit weird; one of his balls popped out and hung against his leg. The material felt good, though, and he nearly came.

Where was she?

He didn't know, but he was going to find out.

"Lincoln?"

Lincoln turned. Ronnie Anne's mother was standing in the doorway, her right eye black and her lips split and swollen. She wore a skirt and a blouse. The blouse was unbuttoned, revealing a lacy black bra. Lincoln's throat caught as he imagined touching the fabric, unclasping it and slowly pulling it away while looking into her brown eyes.

"Those are a little small, don't you think?" she asked, pointedly looking at his crotch. He looked down; he forgot he was wearing her daughter's panties.

He could feel her gaze on him, and his penis throbbed.

"They're okay," he said.

She cocked her head. "Hmmmm. I don't know. I think you should take them off."

Biting her lower lip, she came forward. She looked so much like her daughter. Her skin a warm, sun-kissed shade of brown, her black hair done up, a few strands falling across her soft brow. Lincoln's desire swelled. He hooked his thumbs into the underwear and slid them down, wiggling his hips; they pooled around his feet.

Eyes shining, chewing her bottom lip, Ronnie Anne's mother pushed him back onto the bed and climbed on top of him, her knees on either side, the soft fabric of her skirt tickling his skin. Sultry heat enveloped his groin, and he gasped; his tip lightly grazed her slick crevice, and he shivered, his mind rolling away to a plane where only his penis existed.

Leaning close, Ronnie Anne's mother laughed and took his lower lip between her teeth. "Wait until you're inside," she purred.

She took him in her hand and guided him up and down her silky silt, from her lidded hood to the place where her legs met. His breath caught in his throat, and he shuddered. She laughed again, then slowly, agonizingly, guided him down, down, to her opening, and then she sank onto him, his member sliding into her core. He let out a shuddery sigh, and she kissed him, her tongue moving delicately over his own, her sweet breath filling his mouth. She rocked on him, her walls clenching him, desperate to choke the seed out of him. He ran his hands down her back and grabbed her behind, squeezing and drawing her closer, wanting, _needing_ to get deeper.

She cried out against his lips, and the movement of her hips became faster. He pressed his cheek to hers, and together they tumbled over the edge into ecstasy, their bodies a single mass of flushed, quivering flesh, one indistinguishable from the other.

She lay limply against him, her face buried in the crook of his neck. He was still hard, still inside of her. Warm goo oozed out of her and dripped onto him like honey, their dank, mingled juices. He stroked her hair and kissed her neck.

"Where's Ronnie Anne?" he asked.

"I don't know," she said, her voice muffled by his neck. "She and Roberto were gone when I got home."

Lincoln nodded and broke their embrace.

He pulled the underwear back on. Ronnie Anne's mother lay on her bed, her elbows propping her up. He caught a flash of her sex up her shirt, and had to repress the urge to mount her.

"You're going to find her?"

Lincoln nodded.

"I want to come," she said, and sighed dreamily. "I want to see Bobby."

They walked hand-in-hand through the destruction: The fires, the madness, the death. Overhead, the blades of helicopters made _whump-whump-whump_ sounds, but neither noticed; Lincoln was already thinking of taking her again...

* * *

Two miles outside the Royal Woods town limits, in a grassy field flanked by a stand of forest that separated the cursed village from the rest of the world, General Madman Maddow slapped a large paper map onto the hood of a state police SUV and studied it. Captain Russell Parker of the Michigan National Guard, a Royal Woods native, touched a red line with the tip of his finger. "That's Route 40. In town it becomes Main Street. We got both ends blocked and manned. If we're going in, this is the most direct way." He touched a large green area. "This is where we are now. Just across those trees is Manchin Park. The forest between here and there is pretty dense, so I don't imagine, given what we know, that the infected will go through the effort of coming this way."

"I want this area thoroughly manned," Maddow said. A tall, broad man with a hard, leathery face and a crisp gray crewcut, he stood arrow-straight, his hands at his sides. Tw grunts with M16s stood on either side of him, their orders to protect the General at all costs. If it came down to it, their loyalty was not to the United States government, the President, or American citizens...it was to Madman Maddow alone. "And I want anything that moves to be shot."

The field had become host to base camp. Tents had been hastily erected. Military vehicles and state police cruisers were parked here and there, with more lining the gravel road edging the eastern flank. An Apache helicopter sailed over the treetops, passed overhead, and landed in the tall grass on the other side of the road.

"Anything, sir?" Parker asked.

"Anything," Maddow confirmed. "Nothing comes out of that town. I don't care if it's a 99-year-old man or a 1-year-old little girl. If we don't contain this thing, we're fucked."

"Literally," someone snorted.

Maddow wheeled around, his eyes hard. "Who said that?"

A group of militiamen in camo recoiled.

"I did, sir," a man with glasses said, his lips quivering.

Maddow's lips pursed. "I'm glad _someone_ can find the humor in this, because, frankly, _I_ don't."

The man nodded, his Adam's Apple bobbing in terror.

Maddow turned back to Parker. "Are there any other roads into town?"

"Yes." Parker touched a thin black line that wound from Royal Woods to the north. "It's been blocked."

Maddow nodded. The situation in Royal Woods had been ongoing since 06:38 hours, and so far none of the infected had attempted to leave town. There was a minor exodus in the beginning as frightened people fled: They were rounded up and were currently being held at Fort Creek AFB. None displayed any signs of what was already being called "The Lust Virus" (some of the enlisted men were calling it "The Fucking Disease"). Top government scientists were currently en route from Washington, where, last Maddow knew, the President was being briefed on the situation. Anticipating their request, Maddow had already put together a team to go into Royal Woods and snag one of the infected for study. It was noon now. They would go in at 12:30, traveling only as far as they had to. Some of the brass, higher than even Maddow, were already talking airstrikes, which, Maddow thought, would probably be the only way they'd be able to keep this thing from jumping the barricades. If that happened, it would only be a matter of time before Lust spread across the country.

"Make the men aware that they most hold the infected back at all costs."

Then he said something that terrified the men around him, something that drove home the gravity of the situation.

" _Please_ hold the line."


	7. Waiting for the End

Flip was standing by the back door. The pounding had stopped. He wanted to go to it and slide the eye-panel back to see, but he was afraid one of those monsters would see him, and then it would start all over again. He was surprised the door held under their assault. He was fully expecting them to get in, and to go down swinging, taking out as many of the bastards as he could before they took _him_ down. After that...God only knew. He'd probably run through the streets with his willy swinging one way and his potatoes swinging the other, stopping only long enough to shove himself into potholes, gopher holes, and light sockets.

Sighing, he turned to the people hunkering in his storeroom. The McBride boy and the Santiago girl were sitting side-by-side and talking, their faces drawn and their eyes frightened. Poor kids. Flip honestly felt terrible for them. That Asian chick was sitting against a shelf, still counting the beads on her rosary but no longer praying. The bald guy stood against the wall, his arms crossed, his head back, and his eyes closed. The Santiago boy was sitting against the wall, the gun Flip had given him within easy reach. His legs were splayed out in front of him. Flip noticed how long and thin they were. Good running legs. Guys with legs like that could run fast. Flip knew because he'd seen plenty of them do it in 'Nam.

An idea occurred to him. He mulled it over for a moment, investigating it from multiple angles to see if there were any weak spots. There were, but everything has a weak spot. As long as it isn't _too_ weak, it was fine, and the weak spot in his idea wasn't all that weak.

"Santiago," he said, and the boy looked up. "Come here a minute. I have an idea."

Without waiting, Flip went to a closet door and opened it. Inside, he pulled a cord and muted light filled the space, revealing a metal ladder mounted to the wall. Flip turned, and Bobby was standing there. "What's up?"

"Follow me."

Flip climbed the ladder and opened the hatch. Warm sunshine fell through. He carefully laid it against the roof and emerged, his knees popping and his back aching. Bobby came after, looking around.

"Keep low," Flip said, crouching. For a moment, he was back in a rice paddy, choppers roaring by overhead and VC in the grass. He was nineteen and scared, an M16 in his hands and a cigarette jutting from his lips. He wanted to look tough. You _had_ to look tough.

Moving rustily, Flip went to the parapet lining the roof and slowly lifted his head over. Bobby did likewise.

Across a two lane street, a 7-11 stood in the foreground. Behind it was a shopping center one of those deals with a grocery store, a Chinese take-out place, a video store, and a dry cleaners. People roamed and shambled around the near empty parking lot. They moved in the street. A few were even in the parking lot behind Flip's own store. He spotted Santiago's bike lying in the street.

Closer, parked near the sidewalk, was his Blazer, an old, beat-up black piece of shit that was new when Ronald Reagan was still President.

"You think," Flip said, keeping his voice low and looking at Bobby, "you could get to my Blazer?"

Bobby blinked. "I-I guess."

Flip nodded. "What I'm thinking is this: You run out, bring it to the door, and we can all get in. There aren't that many out there now, but I want to wait a while. If we're still here come dark...are you willing to do it?"

Bobby licked his lips and looked again at the Blazer. The distance from here to there wasn't that far. Fifty feet? A hundred? He could easily run that distance three times over. He'd never tried running that distance with a hoard of sex-crazed zombies coming at him, though. The thought of going back out there scared the shit out of him, but he thought of his sister down in that storeroom, afraid and in danger. If running out to that truck was what it took to protect Ronnie Anne, he would do it in a heartbeat.

"Yeah," he said, "I'll do it."

Flip nodded and tossed another glance at the Blazer.

"Someone's gonna come before then, though, right?"

Flip sighed. "I doubt it. Whatever this thing is, it moves quick. I came in at 6 and opened up like I do every morning, and everything was peaches and cream. An hour later, all hell was breaking loose. By the end of the day, there might not be anyone left _to_ come get us."

Bobby swallowed hard. Flip noticed his distress. "Maybe I'm wrong. I don't know. Come on."

Back inside, Luan was playing with herself again. Mrs. Loud, apparently done crying, held the girl's free hand, torment in her eyes. Bobby went over to Ronnie Anne and sat down.

"How's it look out there?" she asked.

"There aren't many of them," he said. He started to tell her about Flip's plan, but decided against it: It would only worry her.

Luan hitched and moaned.

"How many times are you going to cum, little girl?" Baldy asked sourly. "I'm getting sick of hearing it."

Luan looked at him with half-lidded eyes and rubbed herself harder.

* * *

Lori Loud sat against a brick wall among devastation, her head spinning and her body shuddering. Her grandfather was gone; he left her when she got too weak to jack him off, and truth be told, she didn't miss him: She was too busy trying to stay awake.

In front of her, a police car was on its roof, its windshield shattered, twinkling bits of glass spread across the pavement along with brass bullet casings, trash, and dead bodies. She looked around, saw that she was alone, and closed her eyes. She would sleep for a while. Just a little while. When she didn't feel so weak, she'd get back up and go find Lincoln. Or pop-pop. She would just sleep. Just for a...

* * *

They were like a snowball rolling downhill. It started with Lincoln and Ronnie Anne's mother, then, as they strode purposely by, others joined until there were dozens. At the corner of Main and Elm, Harold and Howard McBride joined them. They were looking for Clyde. The last they knew, he was at Flip's.

Numbering over twenty now, they advanced, one thing on their minds and one thing only.

* * *

Outside Royal Woods, General Madman Maddow picked up a phone. "Yes, sir?"

"Maddow," the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff said, "what's the situation on the ground?"

"We've had only one minor incident at Checkpoint B. Two infected were attempting to escape, were wounded, and captured."

"How many are in captivity?"

"Just the two, sir."

Silence. Then. "The President has ordered an airstrike on Royal Woods which will be carried out at 1400 hours. We want at least twelve."

Maddow nodded. "Yes, sir."

Ten minutes later, Maddow watched as a fleet of armored Humvees entered Royal Woods along a narrow, tree-lined lane. Each was topped with a .50 caliber machine gun.

Maddow looked at his watch. It was 1320. They were cutting it close.


	8. Judgement Day

The sound of Luan Loud reaching yet another orgasm filled the storeroom, her screams and squeals echoing off the concrete walls. "Shut her up!" Baldy yelled. Robotically, Mr. Loud clamped his hand over her mouth. She didn't seem to mind; after a brief rest, she went back to masturbating. Was Flip crazy, or was there a musky smell in the air? He thought so. It reminded him of women he'd been with in the past, and his stomach turned. Fuck this. He was going back on the roof.

Sitting against the parapet in the warm sunlight, he took a pack of Marlboros from his breast pocket, shook one out, put it in his mouth, and lit it, the smoke rolling harshly into his lungs. His doctor had been trying to get him to quit for years. "Those things are gonna kill you, Flip." Well, here he was, his doctor? Probably fucking a stray cat. Flip laughed. Takes a lot more than a plant and some paper to put old Flip Swayer in the ground. He took another drag and glanced over his shoulder.

What he saw made him freeze. A gigantic group of sex fiends were coming down the street. Flip did three years in the United States Marine Corps, 1971-1974, and he knew a determined formation when he saw one. These assholes had a purpose.

Please pass by, please pass by, please pass by...

As one, they shifted his way, marching into the parking lot. "Shit!" he jumped up, threw his cigarette away, and rushed to the hatch. "Santiago! Get up here! Now!"

He went over to the parapet, lifted the shotgun to his shoulder, and aimed at the vanguard of the approaching army. A black man and a white man were holding hands, seeming to lead the pack. Flip fired, and they both went down.

Bobby appeared next to him, his eyes widening. "Holy shit!"

"Don't just stand there!" Flip roared. "Shoot them!"

Bobby brought the gun up and fired, hitting a fat man in the leg. Flip fired into the crowd, taking out three people. Next to him, Bobby froze. "M-mom?"

Flip knew Mrs. Santiago well enough to know that that was indeed her, marching along next to that white-haired kid McBride hung out with. Flip raised the shotgun, but Bobby shoved him. "No!"

"That's not your mom, kid," Flip said, aiming the gun again. He touched the trigger, but let go when he felt the barrel of a handgun press against the side of his head. He turned. Bobby cocked the gun. "Not her," he said, his eyes welling with tears.

"Kid," Flip said, trying _real_ hard not to get pissed off, "right now it's either her or your sister down there. You want her to wind up like the Loud girl?"

Bobby blinked.

Sighing, Flip turned around, aimed away from Mrs. Santiago, and fired, taking three people out. He paused to reload. He was just sticking another cartridge into the breech when something like fire hit him in the shoulder; the shotgun fell from his hands. He looked, and saw blood gushing down his arm. What the fu-

The second round struck him in the head, and he dropped. Next to him, Bobby Santiago watched in horror as Lincoln Loud turned, a gun in his hands. Screaming, Bobby ducked, and the round hit the parapet inches above his head, showering him with concrete chips. Shaking, he crawled to the hatch and hurried down the ladder. The pounding was deafening, the door shaking in its frame. A look of terror was plastered onto Ronnie Anne's face. Clyde McBride was frozen in fear. Baldy's eyes were as big as saucers, and the Asian lady screamed praise to a God Bobby was no longer sure existed.

That door wouldn't hold long. "Ronnie," Bobby said, "come here. We're going on the roof."

Ronnie Anne looked from her brother to the door.

"Come on!"

Mr. Loud took his hand away from Luan's mouth and rubbed his tired eyes. He didn't care at this point if...

He winced as fire spread through his head. Something must have been on his...

His heart lurched. There _was_ something on his fingers.

Luan's saliva. Now it was in his eyes.

Pain wracked his body, and he hissed, letting go of his daughter. Something popped inside of him, and his mind blanked. He spun on his wife and tackled her to the ground. She cried out.

Ronnie Anne's paralysis broke, and she bolted to Bobby. Luan, free, flung herself at Baldy, who screamed and fell back.

"Clyde!"

Just then, the door slammed open, and they surged in. Lincoln was there, his shoulders hunched and his brow knitted in an expression of mindless fury.

"Mom!" Ronnie Anne screamed.

Bobby flung Ronnie Anne toward the ladder and aimed the gun, squeezing off a shot off. A man in a hat fell against the crowd, who pushed him forward. Clyde got shakily to his feet, but a teenage girl with black hair fell on him.

"Go!" Bobby screamed.

Shaking so badly that she could barely hold the rungs, Ronnie Anne started up the ladder, Bobby right behind her. Someone grabbed his foot, and he looked down to see his mother. "Roberto," she said lustily, "come to mama."

Bobby froze. He saw her as she was, lovely and smiling, tucking him into bed at night and kissing him on the forehead. "I love you, Roberto." He saw the love, the worry, the concern, the joy, and the sorrow of many years.

Then he saw Ronnie Anne, and he blinked. Tears filling his eyes, he shoved the gun against his mother's head and pulled the trigger. She jerked and dropped.

Near the top, Ronnie Anne's hand slipped and she started to fall, but Bobby pushed her up and onto the roof. He turned back just as Lincoln reached for him.

Bobby shot him in the head, and he let go, falling into the seething chaos below.

On the roof, Bobby threw the hatch close and secured the bolt lock. It wouldn't hold very long. Ronnie Anne was sitting in a heap, weeping. Bobby took her in his arms and pulled her as far away from the hatch as possible. "It's okay," he said, his voice shaky, "it's okay, we're safe up here."

* * *

At 1350, a jet fighter left Waystation AFB and flew west toward Royal Woods. It bore one bomb. A low-yield tactical nuke. The pilot was nervous. Transporting nukes always made him a little uneasy, but what was worse was this: He knew, as he streaked through the sky over central Michigan, that history would remember him as the man who dropped an atomic bomb on American citizens.

At 1355, the jet roared over Royal Woods.

On the roof, the hatch jumped as God knew how many fists pounded against it. Bobby sat against the parapet, Ronnie Anne trembling and weeping in his arms. He pressed his face against the back of her head and told her it was going to be okay, they would get out of this. The barrel of the gun was against her head. When the hatch opened...

A roar filled the sky, and Bobby looked up as a tiny silver dot raced across the sky. Something fell from it, and started dropping, getting bigger and bigger as it got closer to the ground.

One end of the lock popped, then the other. The hatch flew open, slamming against the roof.

Bobby pulled the trigger just as the bomb hit the ground, spreading cold, cleansing fire through the town of Royal Woods.


End file.
